Yes to heaven (larryau)

Chapter 14

Sometimes , sometimes I see him - the him before death and sometimes his voice is behind me whilst my lips are written with yours and then this obsession fills my mind and devours what ever rational thoughts I could have . Harry looks up at the small boy , licks his lips and closes eyes and then I begin to question if it's my imagination you know maybe , fucking maybe ghost aren't real but he's real .

And though Louis didn't speak he understood. He found himself doing a lot of understanding in passing days that anyone would certainly question the maturity against his age - 16 , prime and barely scraping the surface in America 16 would have Harry arrested and broadcast as a freak , a man with a problem, a man who touches children because 16 was just that ... a child .

But there were things that differ from 16 to another 16 , females matured faster than males and Louis knew deep down that if up against another 16 year old boy the difference would be remarkable-so of course he understood, understood grief and guilt and regret .

" he's real because I make him real -" points towards the chair in the far corner a straight shot away from the wooden bedroom door "wait there every night with a gun in my hand and sweat on the brim of my lip ."

Louis moves some . Bare chest against the older mans bare chest , he can feel his heart beat against bones and the heat from pal skin it's all too much ..it's all too blissful "what do you wait for ?"

"I wait for him to kill me . "

Harry awaits for the moon to raise like one does vampires or a werewolf hollering at the stars , waits in that damn red chair that has seen many deaths as if some sort of throne . A silver gun lays firmly on his lap and he can hear him sing through the halls , his singing in français , can hear the pain in his voice and with every last note he screams in bloody murder throughout all hall .

A haunting. He wants him to feel exactly what he felt that night on the cold ground grasping for his last piece of life .

"Ne me quitte pas Il faut oublier"
" I am so sorry , I'm sorry I wasn't there !"

It's a darkness that smothers him every night , a nightmare that will stay for eternity even in hell - it's a clock of death that ticks in a mockery it's far from the human ear but closer than it appears .

       Harry sits up abruptly green eyes wild and pouty lips puffy and red from kissing , marks of passion trace his pal neck  ... art , art in such or words like an author spending their last few nights with burning cigarettes and  black coffee .

    Each word becomes the final . And the final is where said author falls lifeless beside his writing, his eyes open staring at the nearest wall and that cigarette that fucking cigarette burns with passion before slowly dying into absolutely nothing .

                   For those who read . For those who write I wish you not to .

               " We should go to your home town -" Harry looks around " pack up now and get on the next flight ."

           No . No Louis wanted to scream , no he did not wish to show Harry something so personal this is where I slept , this is where I went swimming and oh this right here is where I showed my panties to a boy when he had me against a tree , here in that high building is where an artist lives he wears thin framed glasses and he has many paintings of me in that small room .

                   " you will get to see your family again wouldn't that be nice -" chuckles "it must get exhausting only having me to talk to ."

                "mais vous verrez le vrai moi. le moi, j'étais avant toi ... tu seras dégoûté " Louis whispers, there's no use in arguing or disagreeing with the older man .

        Louis sighs falling deeper into the king size bed - if Harry thought he was haunted he had no idea what Louis feels .

He has demons , demons that feed on his insecurities.